


Reflective Eyes

by TEC



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Non-Fiction (Based on an Actual Encounter), Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 17:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TEC/pseuds/TEC
Summary: "I was fearful as I got closer, right in the creature’s line of sight and range of whatever primal weapon it possessed. They had no interest in causing me harm though, only continuing to look at me. My fear bled slowly as I got ever closer to its perch, feeling its inquisitive eyes, only holding questions, not hostility. I felt a comfortable movement settle on my heart, no need for the frantic beats that the muscle had pumped not a few moments ago."





	Reflective Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> A short story based on an actual encounter with a bird of this description.  
Sorry I do not have an actual summary, I just could not think of a good one for something so short. The only real summary I could think of was, like, a sentence. Figured giving you a taste would be better, I do apologize if you do not like it and thank you for clicking anyway.

I walked out with my dog, the large bully breed sniffing along the wet grass of summer. It was late, the sun setting and the dark purples fading away to black. I walk along the path, one worn down into the ground from years of use and feet long gone. I was bare-footed, not caring if any of the annoying pine needles stabbed into my feet along my path. It was a rare cool summer night, and a good omen for the start of school.

As I walked, the night quickly being casted in pitch black, only interrupted by distant streetlights, Noel decided she had had enough of the fresh air and trotted to the back door. I left her there, she knew I liked to pace along the aged path, among the trees and humid air, uncaring to the nocturnal ears that spy on my one-person conversations. As I hear her agitated huff, a peculiar shape on a branch catches my eye. My mind makes haste to conjure reason why such an odd shape would be on the branch. A clump of closely knit together pine leaves, a bent kite, an obese squirrel. Then the shaped move, and all theories screeched to a halt, including the squirrel one.

My eyes are quick in the attempt to decipher the shape. It was a bulky mass of ink against the light polluted sky, its head attached to a long neck and only a little smaller in width than the body. I could feel its eyes. Nocturnal by nature it was, for it had no problems catching sight and studying the features of its curious guest. The head swiveling left and right, neck bending accordingly in accommodation, equally interested in its guest as I was to him.

I was fearful as I got closer, right in the creature’s line of sight and range of whatever primal weapon it possessed. They had no interest in causing me harm though, only continuing to look at me. My fear bled slowly as I got ever closer to its perch, feeling its inquisitive eyes, only holding questions, not hostility. I felt a comfortable movement settle on my heart, no need for the frantic beats that the muscle had pumped not a few moments ago.

Finally, logic possessed my mind and strangled it until the obvious was there. An owl, that’s what it was. It was a stupidly large owl. Not even a month ago, I had caught sight of a pretty barn owl that was trying to catch whatever it could, even if the sun was not quite done with earth. It dwarfed compared to this mass of feathers, its features masked by twilight. Having to be the size at least two of the cute owls, it could hunt them if it really wanted to.

I ran back inside, Noel grateful to get back to “her” bed of stuffed animals and blankets. She did not get the chance to get to her bed. I immediately ran out of the living room, zooming to my bedroom and grabbing my flashlight, meant for emergencies but rarely being used for that purpose. Like now. Excitement blinding common judgment, I ran back to the backyard, uncaring of the annoyed huff of breath that followed my hurried movements.

As I got to be within a few meters of the owl, I turned on the light, hoping that the animal would not take off at the light. The bird did not, eyes of pitch only looking at me, caring not of the light that its tar-filled eyes reflected like stars. The owl was huge, being the size of one of my large stuffed animals, gracefully being hosted by the tall pine that it made acquaintance with. The feathers were a chaotic splash of various browns and whites, the head being a mixture of black and dark browns, like a dark knight’s helm, its face being of off-white and stark white. I stared open mouthed, not being able to form words at such a rare sight as this. I could not identify the species if I tried, the body and head being very owl, but the feathers and beak stopping my encyclopedia of animal knowledge like a virus, a virus of ignorance.

The cute little beak was on such a large and friendly face, that it made the owl appear almost doll-like in its quality. The body looked fluffy, so unlike the organized, well-kept, cleanliness of the barn owl. Its feathers were sticking up, rustling in the wind and adding on to the owl’s doll-ness.

The bird and I looked at each other, the owl’s head swiveling, mine too frozen to move a single vertebra. I saw its reflective eyes bearing into mine, memorizing my face like I was theirs, the flashlight holding steady despite my racing mind. I got closer still, almost right under it, the mess of nature-splashed feathers growing more vivid with every step. The owl did not move, did not even tense in fright or anticipation, just sat there, letting its query gaze and study its majesty.

The memory could not last forever though, and only a few moments after getting close, the owl decided that night faded faster than day and prepared to take off, bending just so on the branch. The wings spread with only a thought from their owner, moving with synced clarity as the large bird took off. Going around the small groups of pines, showing off its skills to the me, uncaring of the bare blackness that surround both of us. I saw the last of it as it flew behind another tree, shorter yet more leafy than the pines, disappearing for good.

Looking around on the ground quickly, hoping to catch sight of a feather, uncaring of the diseases, I was disappointed to find nothing of the odd, but incredible, bird. I flash my light to the branch, feeling weirdly light. I did not feel the childish disappointment of not seeing the pretty birdie, I felt like I had made a friend, remembering the animals curious, pitch-colored eyes. I had made a blissful memory, one worthy to tell close friends and mothers, one that was worthy to remember. The chances of me ever seeing that animal again, with the ever-dark eyes and fluffy, nature-hued feathers, was beyond slim. Still, I did not mourn, I felt joyous instead of depressed. I still felt little driplets of excitement dripping into my veins.

I felt like I could never be alone again. How could I? A wild animal, a creature that owed me not a thing, had looked at me in the dark, and then let me gaze at him equally with the assistance of a light. This animal that owed the world nothing except the mice it would fly so acrobatically through the humid air to get. Such a creature let me gaze at it, get close enough to look the beautiful bird in the eye, memorize how the helm of brown and black gracefully sat upon its head.

I got back my room, ready to tell my friends and excitedly tell my mother about the once-in-a-lifetime experience. As I got my laptop, my mother asking me why I was so excited, I thought back to its pitched eyes, the small peak on a too big face, the feathery fluff and the dark helm. Smiling, I remembered the eyes that stole my breath, large as they were. Pits of tar that held not smoldering contempt, but friendly curiosity at the human that happened to see an odd round shape, on a branch, ink against the light polluted sky.

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a real story, and so I believe its classified as non-fiction. This owl did actually look like this, and I have literally no clue what species this is. The closest thing I got was a Great Horned Owl, but that's just mostly based on the size of this cutie, not coloring.  
I quite liked making this story, its good to make stories based on real events, reminds me that the real world can be just as captivating.  
Happy Writing, Bookworms!


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